


What doesn't kill me better run

by A_Ghost_Called_Boo



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Non-graphic injuries, Nonbinary Character, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29591427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Ghost_Called_Boo/pseuds/A_Ghost_Called_Boo
Summary: Show Pony’s first time out in the Zones is nothing short of eventful
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	What doesn't kill me better run

So. How _do_ you win your first clap?

Truth is: you _don’t_. A clap is not a game- you don’t win it, you _survive_ it. Though, it’s also very useful to _know_ that you’re in a clap, which is something you don’t realise until a drac grabs you by the scruff of your neck and drags you out of your hiding spot behind an oddly-shaped rock. Now _this_ , buggie, is where you freak out and stomp down in your rickety old skates as hard as you can, the familiar crunch of breaking bones resounding way too loud in your ears, followed by the muffled cry that fizzles and pops like it’s coming from a beat-up speaker.

The draculoid lets go of you, stumbling backwards and falling over in pain, and you do the first your panicked mind comes up with- you try to _run away._ Now, every ‘joy and their brother will tell you this is one of the worst things you can do in a clap, but you didn’t know that just yet, seeing as you were nothing more than a fresh-faced kid just out of Tinseltown. So, you ran and made it maybe a whole six feet away before tripping over a stone and falling face-first into the dirt, narrowly avoiding getting shot as a white beam of electricity hisses angrily above you.

You don’t have time to ponder whether the numb pain creeping up from your knee to your thigh was worth not getting shot over, as more blasts ring out through the air and your body seizes up in anticipation of hot pain and the smell of burning flesh. The shots never land, or if they do _you_ aren’t the target, because despite the commotion you feel nothing more than your knees usual protests to sudden shock. What finally makes you look up is the sound of an engine roaring in crescendo until it’s almost as loud as the dracs’ puritan blasters, a beat-up old truck coming barreling down the road in your direction with the driver haphazardly hanging out the window, cackling and hollering as they fire back with a hot pink gun of their own.

Now, three for three shots _is_ impressive, but what would’ve really impressed you was if they saw the fourth draculoid hiding in the shrubbery and shakily aiming a rocket launcher at their car. It isn’t hard to decide what to do next as you push yourself up in a sitting position and grab the biggest rock you can find before hurling it at the latex-masked vampire with all your strength. You hit it square in the throat, toppling the drac over for the second time, and begin to unsteadily get back on your feet, picking up a stray blaster as you make your way to where the drac lays on the ground hacking and sputtering away.

“Fucking prick.“ you mutter, aiming the gun at the the thing’s head, and pull the trigger


End file.
